


Voice in the Walls

by MalignSensualist



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Dirty Talk, Frotting, Horcrux is however tf old Tom was when he made the diadem (so like 19?maybe), M/M, Multi, Parseltongue, Praise Kink, Voyeurism, dirty talking in Parseltongue, harry is 16
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-04
Updated: 2016-09-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 01:25:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7956733
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MalignSensualist/pseuds/MalignSensualist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Something... strange happens after Harry stabs Tom Riddle's diary in the Chamber of Secrets. A voice whispers to him in the halls of Hogwarts, one only he can hear. He convinces himself it's a delusion, a hallucination, but as the years roll by it is simply there. Until, of course, Harry is forced to face the owner of that voice.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Voice in the Walls

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Acnara](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Acnara/gifts).



> Because Pepa spurred the creativity and wanted Diadem!Tom smut... and Harry being whispered to in Parseltongue... and Voldemort... c:

_:: Brave little thing, aren’t you? To slay the King of Serpents… ::_

The first whispers could have been anything, really, including Harry’s overactive imagination after slaying a sixty foot serpent and nearly _dying._ They didn’t make much sense, really, but chased him all through Hogwarts and his classes until he boarded the Express back to London. He forgot about them over the summer, with Vernon’s yelling and the Aunt Marge Situation, how could he not? At least there weren’t any house elves attempting to save him.

Another year rolled around, the first week of third year passed in silence, and then they started again. Whispering him in his sleep, until Harry was paranoid that perhaps he might be just a bit mad. He didn’t speak with Hermione or Ron about it, of course, with everything else that year Harry just couldn’t bare even _more_ pity.  For the most part, he ignored the voice, whispering sibilantly at the back of his mind, chuckling at him in one moment, praising his Patronus in the next – or delivering cutting, vicious commentary about Harry himself or his (unfortunate) friends.

Another summer free of the voice Harry realized spoke in parseltongue – of all things – before he returned once more to Hogwarts.

With the cup and Ron’s… disagreement with him, Harry attempted to speak back to it. Unnerving really, but he couldn’t quite help feeling a bit fond of the moody entity. Maybe he was insane? Maybe it was some unlucky remnant of that memory from Voldemort’s diary (Merlin he hoped not but when were Harry’s hopes ever answered).

_:: Is that truly your best effort at Accio, Potter? Please. I could do better before even entering Hogwarts! However did_ you _become a champion? ::_

Tucked away, angrily attempting to drag the stupid cushion to him, Harry very nearly set the thing on fire with the voice’s latest insults. It never introduced itself, no matter how much he asked – always deflecting. It had taken to praising successful work, and was quite… insistent he _test out_ the Unforgiveables after Professor Moody’s display. Harry refused of course, no way was he trying magic like that, it was _vile._ So the voice offered a barter – its name for one little Crucio. Harry refused this too, the arse would probably lie just to spite him.

: _I don’t see you casting any spells.:_

_:: Don’t be ridiculous, Harry, you don’t see me at all. ::_

_:How very funny.:_

_:: I do try. Now summon the cushion. ::_

_:Right. Because that’s really going to save me from a dragon.:_

_:: Well, that attitude certainly won’t save you from it. But by all means, express your defeatist tendencies, oh noble Gryffindor. ::_

So the year went. Up until he reconciled with Ron, and then it became harder to reply to his… voice. Not a friend. Not a companion. Harry was really starting to worry about his sanity, but didn’t say anything. Conversation was reserved for moments before bed, with Ron’s snoring covering the quiet hisses that still somehow shamed him ; he was a Potter, a Gryffindor, he shouldn’t share such a similarity with his enemy.

_:: The tournament is almost over, little Gryffindor, do you think you will win? ::_

_:I’ve done quite well so far.:_

_:: Indeed. ::_

_:You sound skeptical.:_

_:: Well, aside from that insipid hero-complex you have, I suppose I can’t critique you too much. ::_

_:Since you don’t exist you can’t critique me at all. Really should just tell Dumbledore about you…:_

_:: And end up sharing a ward with Lockheart? Harry, I didn’t know you enjoyed his flouncing so much. ::_

_:UGH! Better than sharing headspace with you.:_

_:: How cruel of you. Surely I am not so bad? You have listened to me for nearly two years now, without mentioning this little secret. ::_

At the time, Harry scoffed and ignored the voice’s sardonic humor, rolled over into bed without even a good night – which had become eerily standard in the evenings. Tomorrow was the final task and he needed rest, not a headache from arguing with a figment of his imagination. No way was it more than a figment – but it wasn’t barmy either, just _stressed._

_:: Harry? ::_

Voldemort was _back_ and Cedric was dead and the last thing Harry wanted was to speak with a voice in his head. He should be mourning, but all he could feel was numb. The year was almost over and he would be trapped at the Dursley’s while everyone else skirted about danger. He didn’t have time to hiss secret conversations with his imagination (forget that he only ever heard at Hogwarts). So he lay in bed, staring at the canopy.

_:: Harry… something has happened… ::_

Giddy. The voice was giddy, and concerned in an odd why; by Harry’s silence, he was sure. What else could it be? It was the excitement that terrified him. Maybe he was mad. Maybe now, more than ever, he had reason to stop denying the identity of his transient companion. After hearing Voldemort lisp sibilantly in the graveyard, how could _this_ voice be anything else?

_:Who are you?:_

He asked it flatly, green eyes fixed to the shadowed maroon of his canopy.

_:: Harry, you know I cannot tell you. ::_

_:Will not.:_

_:: Indeed. So what has happened? ::_

_:You’re Voldemort…:_

_:: I am not. ::_

_:Liar.:_

_:: I take it you’ve had some trouble with Lord Voldemort have you, then? To be so sure. I thought I was your imaginary friend. ::_

_:Don’t mock me. I should tell Dumbledore… how are you even here?:_

_:: What will you do if I tell you? ::_

Silence. Harry hesitated, knew the voice – Voldemort – felt smug in such a small victory. What would he do? There was really only one option.

_:I’ll destroy you.:_

_:: Harry, Harry. I’m not Voldemort… perhaps one day you will realize that. ::_

_:I don’t see how.:_

Voldemort didn’t reply, but Harry didn’t expect him to. So he rolled over and reluctantly closed his eyes – but the expected scenes of a graveyard and glowering crimson eyes never came. Neither did he notice nearly translucent fingers brushing through fringe, an indulgent smile watching him sleep.

_:: Perhaps next year, little Savior… you haven’t much time left, after all, now that he has returned. ::_

A summer with no news, of nightmares and ominous silence. Now he stood in the middle of a moldering old house arguing with Hermione and Ron and so, _so_ very angry. If the voice joined, it would be a party, Harry was sure and nearly slammed his fist into the mirror again just to watch glass slice into already bloodied knuckles. Instead he breathed, and anger lanced through him like acid, burning and acrid – a smell of ozone in his nose that roiled in his very magic.

_Why am I so angry? Why is Dumbledore avoiding me? Why the dementors? Why, why, why?_

Hogwarts tomorrow and _he_ would be there, Harry knew. Just not _how_ because Hogwarts was supposed to be impenetrable, and Voldemort was tucked low somewhere with his Death Eaters. He left the bathroom but didn’t slam the door. Harry wandered the halls, listless but too restless to sleep. There was always the ride to school for that.

_:: Have a nice summer, Harry? ::_

_:Any time is nice without you around.:_

_:: You wound me… so cutting are your words, little Savior. ::_

_:Obviously not enough if you’re still talking to me, Voldemort.:_

The voice sighed, exasperated, Harry nearly tripped up the stairs in surprise.

_:: I am not your Voldemort, Harry. Do watch your step, it would be such a shame for the Dark Lord to miss his chance at maiming you to a flight of stairs. ::_

Grumbling, Harry marched on to Defense Against the Dark Arts and a special toad named Dolores Umbridge.

===== In a Secret Room of Hidden Things … =====

Nearly fifty years he waited here, tucked away and hidden from the world, touched only by curious fingers of secretive students – but never the same one twice. It was not quite existence, and he, more an _it_ at the time, floated between existence. Not quite conscious, not entirely unaware – until the diary awoke, ran rampant through the school and an unexpected gift manifested itself. He roused from slumber and watched little Harry Potter, mocked the boy though it took some days to realize, in his spectral travels of the school, Harry could _hear_ him.

The boy should be incapable – but a twelve year old also should have fell before a millennium old basilisk.

A shame he couldn’t show himself to the brat sooner, but this year held promise. With whispers of the Umbridge woman and a farce of lessons and the wounds carving themselves into scars on Harry’s hand.

Tom Riddle, where he reclined as a shard in Rowena’s beloved Diadem, seethed at that. A boiling, possessive anger that the wench _dare_ touch his things. Although Harry didn’t yet realize it, he _would_ be his. Lord Voldemort’s nemesis, his temporary vanquisher, his rival – but Tom had… _other_ plans. Most curious plans that hadn’t entirely manifested themselves until recently, as he observed the naïve innocence of one silly little Gryffindor.

He could wait, he _would –_ but temptation strangled him when their little club took over the Room of Requirement and he was so _very_ close. Awareness at those times the room changed was an odd thing, like sliding out of the physical realm into some place in-between. Odder still through the perspective of this wraith-like existence.

Of course, other interesting things began; the dreams. Harry often muttered about them in his sleep. Tom wondered at what connection they shared, the three of them; Lord Voldemort and himself to this _boy,_ that would make such a thing possible. Not that Tom cared so much, he had already decided Harry’s fate, if he would but drop guard for a moment.

Even now, in sleep, Potter twisted and writhed, shirt hiked up to reveal a pale glimmer of skin and Tom _desired_ but didn’t touch. Refused himself such an indulgence, for it would be all the sweeter later.

_:: Soon, little Savior, you’ll be mine entirely. ::_

Of course then the brat had to run off in a wild display of destruction and chaos to raid the Ministry of Magic of all places. Tom waited patiently, fifty years in a headdress could impart even that most difficult lessons. By morning Harry returned but something _else_ had shifted, something within himself as well… a sort of awareness as the master soul reached out, brushed so distantly against all those fragmented pieces of self – and pulled back in a fury.

The missing diary, certainly… but what else had Lord Voldemort walked away from Harry with?

An easy enough question to answer after spying on the old fool with his little pawn. Tom especially admired the devastation of Harry’s enraged magic, but more importantly he had answers. More than expected really, but not much to do with them. Knowledge could not be shared between soul fragments, unfortunately.

_:: Enjoy your summer, Harry. ::_

_:I’ll enjoy the silence.:_

_:: Rude as ever. Did your educational detentions with the High Inquisitor teach you nothing? ::_

Harry scowled, green eyes darkened with hatred of the foul woman and Tom delighted in the expression. Such a change from the brooding disinterest, nay perhaps even depression Harry wallowed in since his adventure. The horcrux sobered, settled unseen in a seat next to the boy with a studious stare.

_:: Something terrible has happened and no one is speaking of it. ::_

_:You mean besides Voldemort?:_

_:: Of course. Stop avoiding. ::_

_:Sirius is dead.:_

_:: Ah. ::_

That explained it. Not that Tom _cared_ about some lunatic and former –Dumbledore supporter was dead, but Harry’s… _mourning_ was irksome. Still, he bid the boy farewell for another summer and promised himself _next year._ Patience was an acquired skill, but his had run out.

Summer was always the longest two months of the year. The portraits and ghosts of Hogwarts, while content with their own little sliver of half-existence, were of no entertainment for him. Least of all because he couldn’t _talk_ to them even if he wanted to. This particular summer was longer than the rest, what with Voldemort active once again. The echoes of impressions Tom received were often disorienting and frustrating in their lack of substance, giving no real insight – nothing but a _tease._ Still, Harry Potter returned soon enough; melancholy and subdued in contrast to the explosive anger of the previous year.

Shame really, Tom rather enjoyed watching the show(s) Harry put in when that precarious temper snapped.

_:: So you have the dubious pleasure of learning under the tutelage of Horace Slughorn. ::_

_:I don’t really like him.:_

_:: No one_ likes _Slughorn, but the man is dreadfully well connected – do try and take a bit of advantage of it. ::_

_:I don’t need his sort of connections. He’s rude, besides.:_

_:: Well, that’s certainly something I haven’t heard before. ::_

_:How do you know him anyway?:_

_:: We were acquainted in my youth. ::_

Harry’s silence was dubious at best, but Tom felt no need to elaborate and conversation drifted into silence. A pattern began this year, and those silences lingered longer. Harry was often brooding, or chasing shadows in Draco Malfoy across the curious little map left him by his father. Tom wasn’t sure what he felt about _that_ particular fixation, except that this little pustule _Malfoy_ was obviously not worth such scrutiny. The boy was a trembling mess even when undertaking such a fascinating challenge as repairing the busted Vanishing Cabinet.

Tom had a few theories about that but still delighted in distracting Harry from his quest for evidence against the brat.

Then what should happen but a most wonderful touch of fortune. Just when Tom had almost resigned himself to _telling_ the Gryffindor where he was, but now he was saved that misfortune. Of course the white-lipped terror ringing Harry’s mouth was just so _fascinating,_ how could he let him run in with that tatty book and hide it without so much as a hello?

Grinning, Tom sauntered behind Harry as he staggered through the room for a hiding spot. What was so terrible about a potion’s textbook he felt the need to hide it? Ah, well, best to find out rather than speculate.

_:: Harry. ::_ He cooed quietly, just over the boy’s right shoulder.

Harry jerked, a violent, paranoid twitch as he spun around, wild eyes searching the room for the voice. Tom scoffed.

_:: Really, after all this time you still look to see me? ::_

Interestingly enough, tension melted from Harry, as though Tom’s particular disturbing was _comforting_ in the face of that book. Stomping down a surge of indignation, the horcrux swept forward, near enough for a chilly, ghostly breath to tickly along Harry’s neck.

_:: What has you in such a rush, so desperate to hide a little secret? ::_

_:Nothing… are you here?:_ Emerald eyes jerked around, wary again, much to Tom’s pleasure.

_:: In a manner of speaking. ::_ Ah! That scowl was delightful. _:: Perhaps try looking? Certainly you can figure. It. Out. ::_ Words punctuated with a cold breath against prickling skin and Harry rubbed uncomfortably at his neck, gaze shifting here and there, searching for his invisible companion.

Still, he searched and Tom followed a step behind, whispering taunting little hints.

_:: Really Harry, if you were any farther away… ::_

_:: Nearly there now. ::_

_:: Oh please! It’s no wonder you wear glasses – but I wonder if they help at all. ::_

Fingers brushed against gleaming silver and Tom’s breath hitched, pupils jerking before a malevolent grin split his face. Standing just over Harry’s shoulder, ghostly lips brushing earlobe, he whispered out coyly;

_:: There we are… why don’t you put it on? ::_

_:This isn’t you.:_ Harry scoffed, nose wrinkled.  

Tom sighed, exasperated. _:: Just put it on… ::_

Harry looked dubious but complied haltingly, placing the diadem somewhat awkwardly atop his messy nest of black hair. Tongue swiped over lips and fingers carded through messy hair. Harry jumped in response, chin lifted to peer over his shoulder at the nothingness.

Tom smirked, hands rested atop the boy’s shoulders to turn him until he faced a mirror, but Harry stubbornly looked where Tom should be.

_:: You look so pretty in this, why don’t you see for yourself? ::_

Harry scowled and Tom’s fingers tightened on bony shoulders.

_:: Look, Harry, see how well the amethyst compliments your eyes. Silver is a fetching color on you… silver and green. ::_

Tom plucked at the very Gryffindor tie with a disdainful sniff but Harry _finally_ turned to the mirror – and froze.  Green eyes widened, body tense and fingers already fumbling for his wand when he spied familiar curled hair and glimmering red eyes from over his shoulder.

“Voldemort!” Harry hissed, rage sparking a fire like no other in his eyes and Tom squashed a giddy shiver to instead pout at the _Boy-Who-Lived._

_:: We’ve talked about this, Harry. I am not Voldemort. ::_

Harry scoffed, brandished his want and Tom pressed fingertips to his chest and drew back aghast. Only the tell-tale humor in eyes gave away the farce.

_:: Harry… ::_

“You can’t lie to me. I’ve met you before. _Voldemort is my past, present, and future.”_  He mocked, and stepped back to match Tom’s step forward.

_:: Do I look like Voldemort to you, little Savior? ::_ Tom taunted, and disappeared, watched with growing amusement as Harry turned to and fro in search of him.

“No.” Conceded reluctantly. Tom fancied he could taste that mixture of anger and fear; fight or flight sending heartbeat into a flurry. Funny that Harry still wore the diadem, how fetching it looked on him…

_:: Have we not been acquaintances for years? Since you slew the basilisk in the chamber? ::_

“Yes.” Another grudging admission and Tom hovered just behind Harry now, fingers itching to wrap around him.

_:: Never have I sought to harm you, have I? ::_

“You were just waiting. Biding your time… so where are you?”

Quick as a viper strike Tom grabbed Harry’s wrists and _squeezed_ until Holly and phoenix feather clattered to the floor. The boy immediately began to struggle, annoying that, given the difficulty Tom was having holding him still.

_:: Stop, Harry. I won’t hurt you. ::_

“Liar.” Harry hissed and green flashed malevolently.

Tom hummed disapprovingly. Of course he wouldn’t hurt him, unless of course Harry tried something first. Thumbs massaged circles into wrists and Harry eventually stilled, though tension sang through rigid muscle in time with the pounding flutter of heartbeat.

_:: No. If I panned to hurt you, I would have done so before now… ::_

There was truth to that, even Potter couldn’t ignore it and Tom lit up with triumph when Harry dipped his head in reluctant acknowledgement.

_:: You’re very beautiful you know. Especially your eyes. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such a pure color… ::_ Harry shivered, and Tom wondered for a fleeting, gleeful moment if he was pleased with purred praises.

_:: Do you like that, Harry? Hearing how brave and handsome you are? ::_

Lips brushed against neck eliciting another shiver, but Harry still didn’t answer. Not that it mattered, Tom had all the answer he needed from the boy’s body. Another gentle squeeze to wrists and he turned Potter ‘round, but the boy refused to look at him; eyes squeezed shut and breathing a labor of mixed panic and pleasure. Intoxicating, such a look. Harry knew how to fight, how to retaliate and stand up to certain pain and death – but this? He hadn’t a clue how to handle this and Tom watched the subtle play of expressions hungrily.

Releasing one wrist, Tom pressed a knuckle to Harry’s chin, tipping the boy’s head back to capture abused lips with his own. For a Gryffindor, Potter had a myriad of nervous twitches; gnawing his poor lips being only one. No matter. Tom enjoyed the tang of iron when he pressed forward firmly, tongue tracing along bottom lip before he pulled back and Harry jerked with a grunt of dismay.

Glazed emerald met red and Tom grinned like a shark, licked his own lips pointedly.

_:: You like this, Harry? ::_

“No.” But he didn’t sound so sure, and even the struggle to step away was half-hearted at best. Oh, the poor boy was so confused and Tom swooned a bit watching the battle of reason and rash abandon in the depths of that gaze.

So he kissed Harry again, soft and flighty and _teasing._ Again, and again, and again. Cutting off word and protest until the little Savior was swaying into him near breathless and panting. Still, he fought with himself, fought against giving in and Tom acknowledged he could admire the bull-headed stubbornness – it would make _breaking_ it all the sweeter.

Sweeter still knowing he had seduced his greatest rival, that the boy would come willingly.

“This… it’s wrong… shouldn’t.” Harry hissed to himself, fingers balled into fists that trembled at his sides.

Tom gripped Harry’s hips, a firm squeeze as he leaned in, crimson gaze imploring.

_:: Do you really think that, Harry? ::_ Lips pressed in another, transient kiss, skimmed down Harry’s chin while fingers deftly plucked at robes until they fell to the floor and Tom could smooth palms freely up the boy’s back. _:: This, it feels nice… so why not indulge? You’re always running off to help other people. To save them. Don’t you think you’ve earned a bit of pleasure yourself? A touch of hedonism? Besides, ::_

Knees ached against the stone floor where Tom kneeled, thumbs rubbing circles against the jut of hip bones as he peered up at Harry coyly. Harry stared back, wide-eyed, glasses nearly slipping from his nose – disbelief hung suspended with his breath when Tom brushed mouth over the hot bulge tightening trousers. _:: No one will know… ::_ Tongue flicked out, laved over burgeoning zipper in a slow caress and he could feel heat _twitch_ needy.

_:: Just you and me, Harry… so why not enjoy yourself? ::_  Give in to me, Tom refrained from saying.

Harry closed his eyes, fingernails bit into palms as he considered – or tried to – the pros and cons. He couldn’t focus, not with the aching pleasure of that mouth so near him, something so new and foreign but _anticipated;_ even if not quite like this.

“Okay.” Voice rasped, throat dry.

Tom swelled with victory, a pleased hiss rumbling like a growl in his throat. _:: Good boy. ::_

Harry groaned and shuddered when Tom squeezed his hips again. It shouldn't feel good. This was his enemy, this man was _evil_ no matter how sweetly he talked - but Harry couldn't bring himself to push that mouth away.  

Button popped loose and zipper tugged open with a tickle of magic, but Tom didn't linger, stood again to steal another kiss. Harry was so very receptive to soft touches, and he couldn't help but marvel in this power over his foe. This would be a new kind of victory, Tom decided as he kissed the breath from Harry's lungs and walked the boy back and back.

Around them the room shifted and morphed with a blur of color and grinding stone. Piles of forgotten treasures swallowed into nothing, replaced by dark hardwood, plush sheets and emerald drapes.

A gasp and Harry hit the bed with a small bounce. Robes shirked, Tom followed him; prowled over the shorter wizard with a soft hiss.

_:: Comfortable, Harry? I think you're wearing too many clothes. ::_ He lisped against the boy's ear while fingers hooked into trousers and jerked.

A yelp later and Harry was sprawled pant-less and _hard_ before him like some erotic dessert. Red eyes roved bared skin hungrily (greedy). _:: So beautiful... so hard for me. ::_ Fingertip traced tauntingly down the length of rigid flesh, delighted in the needy moan and sharp _twitch._ Hips jerked from the bed and Tom stilled them with the press of a hand, a quiet, hissing _shush._

_:: Be still now, Harry, or I’ll have to restrain you myself. ::_ Green blinked owlishly at Tom for a moment before Harry focused again lower,  where fingers grazed against the soft skin of inner thighs. Muscle twitched away from ticklish sensation that clenched stomach and Tom grinned like a shark. Fingers curved and nails bit into sensitive skin and Harry shouted, a mix of irritation and shocked pleasure at the sting.

Raised, pinked flesh looked so pretty on the boy, Tom couldn’t help but admire them. Harry shuddered under that hungry look. “Could have warned me, arse.” He grumped and Tom chuckled, leaned over him for another taunting kiss.

_:: Where would be the fun in that? Now lay back, Harry. I have a great many things planned for you. ::_  Shirt shoved up and bunched beneath armpits, baring chest spotted with the beginnings of chest hair and a sparse little trail running from navel to cock. He pinched one of those nipples, rolled it between thumb and index and delighted in the arch backed snarl from Harry.

So very angry. The brat definitely needed to relax.

Lips closed around the other nipple, a soft, warm contrast to the other. A quiet moan and Tom hummed thoughtfully, eyes ever watching as he scraped and nipped a trail down Harry’s torso, leaving a patchwork of pink teeth marks. Down and down until dripping cockhead bumped against neck and vicious sucks replaced bites with red-purple hickies.

“Guh…” Harry articulated, eyes rolled back into his head and hips straining up for friction. What was he worried about?

Tom smirked and flicked leaking cockhead with his tongue, mouthed down the aching length of it, along fluttering pulse until lips closed around sensitive skin. A tug nearly had the boy mewling, back arched high of the ground at the undoubtedly odd sensation of having his sac _fondled_ by mouth. Long fingers curled around creamy thighs, a bit thin but corded in muscle Tom easily admired with eye and teeth. He didn’t stop until this part of the boy too, was littered in _his_ marks, and possessive itch subsided.

Nails bit into skin, clawed lines of raised red and beaded blood down legs. Harry snarled, snapped to attention with a lurch against the pain – a sort of irritated betrayal that Tom dare shatter his arousal induced delirium.

Tom smiled, a curl of lips at once hungry and mocking.

_:: Don’t tell me a bit of pain doesn’t turn you on, Harry? ::_ A pointed look of darkened red to the boy’s leaking cock. _:: Have an open mind, I assure you, I won’t allow you release until you’re begging for mercy. ::_

He watched Harry shudder, despite gnashing his teeth in ire. _:: Harry. ::_ Tom demanded, eyes narrowed and fingers ringed about the base of cock, _squeezing_ until flesh bulged purple. _:: I am not above punishing you. ::_

Emerald rounded – how beautiful incredulity and disbelief looked on the boy! Simply mesmerizing and Tom’s grind widened before he shoved against Harry’s sternum. At least he went willingly. _:: Now enjoy, little Savior. ::_

Without further warning, lips closed around Harry’s cock and cheeks hollowed with the force of his suck. Harry shouted, but Tom paid him no mind, spurred on by the noises and fingers clawing at sheets. Tongue laved a circle around throbbing cockhead, but all the while he held the base, like a makeshift cock-ring stemming certain climax.

_|| Well what have we here? ||_ Sibilant whisper halted both boys where they lay in a pile on the bed, Tom crouched over Harry’s lower half. _|| Quite the scandal, wouldn’t you say, Harry? To be caught in such a situation with… something of mine. ||_ Red eyes glimmered with insidious amusement.

Harry stared, Tom huffed and _sucked_ on the boy again. Just ignore that Voldemort was there, looming like a serpentine wraith, watching without even a tickle of shame.

“No – ah!” Harry jerked, Tom hummed around the boy’s cock, rolled balls between deft fingers and restrained bucking hips by sitting atop Harry’s legs. It was no good to have him thrashing so.

_:: Relax, Harry… no one is here but us. ::_

Another jerk but emerald blinked, confused into the empty darkness over Tom’s shoulder.

_|| Yes, Harry. Hush and enjoy… be a good boy and stop fighting what you want. Stop thinking about what is proper... that hardly matters now, does it? ||_ Spindly, paraffin fingers carded through black hair, there and not, much like the materialized horcrux watching him with matching red eyes. 

Contrary, Harry turned from the touch, ignored the indulgent (mocking) chuckle with a growl and fisted fingers in thick, dark curls. A jerk and hiss of pain from Tom and he pulled the other boy from his cock, both of them panting now, a flush high in cheeks.

Voldemort watched on, eyes half-lidded glimmers in the semi-darkness.

Lips mashed together, and Harry bucked against the still clothed figure hovering over him. Unacceptable. Ignored the protesting hiss as clumsy fingers fumbled belt and buttons of Tom’s trousers. Voldemort grinned, long fingers curled in Harry’s hair, propped upon an elbow next to them. _|| Yes, Harry. Take what you want, do not deny yourself. People are always denying you, but this – this you can have. ||_

_:: Harry… ::_ Tom all but snarled, lips pressed along jugular as the boy’s fingers wiggled their way insidiously into trousers. He should stop him. This wasn’t how it was supposed to play out. Tom was supposed to seduce Potter into complete obsequiousness; take him, claim him, taint him in an undeniable way – one Harry would surely regret later no matter how he reveled in it now. They blasted Gryffindor wasn’t supposed to _reciprocate._ Tom wasn’t supposed to _feel_ like this when he did – hot and flushed and _hard_ until flesh practically cried relief when calloused fingers brushed clumsily against him.

“Oh…” Harry gasped, an owlish blink behind lopsided glasses as he squeezed Tom and took in the low, whispery groan breathed against his neck.

Voldemort pulled his hand a way, grinning a lipless grin as he sat up – stare intent and heavy as physical force. _|| Beautiful, Harry. Don’t be so shy now, surely you will not flinch from this sort of power. After all, it is obviously mutual. ||_

Hips jerked down and Harry jolted at the rough friction of wool pants across his cock, squeezed Tom again before pulling his hand back. The horcrux groaned, sank teeth into the soft skin of bared shoulder until pain lanced through Harry with the welling of blood. He cried out, jerked upward when tongue soothed over the fresh wound.

The diadem slipped, sat awkwardly crooked upon his forehead and a jolt like _familiarity_ sparked through scattered mind. Tom seemed to feel it too, for he froze, breath a sharp inhalation released shakily.

_:: Harry, ::_ He hissed, half wondering as Harry once again fumbled with trousers, pushing them down and down until hot skin met hot skin and they both shuddered at echoing pleasure. _:: Harry… ::_ Tom groaned, realization turning sibilant words into a coo.

Leaning nearer, Voldemort grinned, but a question lingered bitter on his tongue. A curiosity at that _spark_ shared between his horcrux and Potter. Much like the spark of violent pain (once) felt between himself and the boy. Long fingers curled into dark curls, a gentle petting as Tom occupied Harry with a kiss so the Gryffindor wouldn’t question epiphanies.

Who knew watching could be so very delightful, the Dark Lord considered as the two young wizards tangled together in a desperate grasp of arm and leg, hips rolling in near-frantic undulations. Breaths stolen and shared in bruising kisses that left lips swollen, tattered by biting teeth. The diadem slipped further, righted by Voldemort himself as the young men moaned, groaned into each other.

Tom gasped, hips jerking sharply and spine bowed as he spilled hot and (disgustingly) messy across Harry’s stomach. Eyes glazed, lips parted in pleasure, Harry shuddered, but a moment behind him. They both lay there, considerably sweaty and lethargic in the euphoric high singing through tired muscles.

Carelessly, Harry fingered at the diadem tangled in his nest of hair, every brush of fingers seeming to thrill down Tom’s spine as he shifted and hissed deprecations into the pillow.

Voldemort watched them a moment longer, brushed a knuckle down Harry’s cheek with a chilling mockery of affection. _|| Do take care, Harry Potter. ||_

Harry only half-acknowledged the threat, eye-lids heavy, already drifting into sleep. Ignorant of ghostly fingers plucking the diadem almost reverently from his head. Of lips pressed against his scar and the stir of _knowing_ that sparked in soul.


End file.
